


Lip Service

by being_alive



Series: Mini-Fics [13]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: AU, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, POV Third Person, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_alive/pseuds/being_alive
Summary: Juliet has only ever kissed two people in all of her life. The first was when she was twelve, and Rosaline had dared her to kiss one of the servants's sons. The second was two hours ago, during her wedding to the one and only Count Paris.
Relationships: Juliet Capulet/Paris
Series: Mini-Fics [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1380718
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Lip Service

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'm not really sure what to say here so: here's the fic!

Juliet has only ever kissed two people in all of her life. The first was when she was twelve, and Rosaline had dared her to kiss one of the servants's sons. The second was two hours ago, during her wedding to the one and only Count Paris.

And now, she reflects as Paris leads her by the hand to his personal quarters, she is soon going to have to do a lot more. Despite her lack of actual experience in these matters, it's not like she's completely oblivious. She would listen as her cousins discussed their various exploits in hushed tones, and would occasionally overhear the servants doing the same. Even so, secondhand knowledge isn't the same as actually doing what she's heard described, and that's not even counting who it is that she's going to be doing it with.

Count Paris. Her husband. It's not as if he's unattractive, really, it's more that she's never even seen him with more than gloves and coat taken off prior to this. Before long, he's guiding her into his bedroom and her heart is beating frantically in her chest.

As soon as the door closes, Paris leans down and in, as if he means to kiss her. Instead, she steps away and back. 

He straightens and looks at her, confusion clear in his green eyes. _Control_ , she thinks. She needs to take control of this situation, and she thinks she might just know how to do so.

"Take off your clothes," she says, firmly, even as nervousness courses through her. Shocks shows clear on his face, but is quickly replaced by a hungry smile. Paris raises his hands to the first button on his shirt and says, "As you wish, my lady."

She kicks off her shoes and turns to tuck them under the bed, but barring that brief moment, her gaze never leaves Paris as he divests himself of every layer of clothing he had worn to their wedding until he's standing bare before her, pink-cheeked but otherwise unashamed. Paris, stripped of his fine golden silks and without any use for his title, is simply a man like any other, bare before her curious and criticizing gaze. He has a body better suited to wordplay and politics than to swordplay and street fights, thighs thick with fat instead of muscle and a slight softness to his stomach and chest that can't be concealed by a faint covering of fair hair.

He moves forward, as if to try to kiss her again, but she dodges this kiss too, and instead brings her hands up to his shoulders. She lets the rest there for the briefest of moments and then she presses down with all her strength until he's forced onto his knees before her.

"Serve me," she says, voice quavering and pulse pounding low as she takes her skirts in both hands and lifts them above her hips. Paris's smile returns as he lifts her small foot in his large hand and slowly, reverently presses a kiss to the top of it. He presses a kiss to her ankle, to her calf, to her knee, and to a spot on her thigh right above her knee. His lips are gentle against her skin, and his face, or what she can see of it, is flushed an even deeper pink than before. Juliet has no doubt in her mind that her face is a similar shade, due to the amount of heat coursing through her.

"As my lady commands," Paris murmurs against the soft skin of her thigh, and turns his kisses inward.


End file.
